Month: December 2012

Les Misérables has been one of my favorite musicals since I was a little girl. I remember belting out the entire Broadway soundtrack in the car with my mother and running around the house pretending I was a French revolutionary. I had been anticipating the creation of a true Les Mis film for as long as I can remember and dreamed a dream that I would be the one cast as Éponine someday, but shit happens – right Fantine? Regardless, my replacement was magnificent and I fell in love with those miserable French paupers all over again on Christmas Day.

I’ve significantly loathed disliked Anne Hathaway since her introduction to the world in The Princess Diaries. She has always played the annoying girl. She iswas the annoying girl. Maybe the Mayans were right, because the lady has been growing on me like herp on a ho and I never thought I’d see the day. Her Dark Knight Rises performance was aight, her SNL performance was stellar (As Carrie on Homeland. I die.), and now, her portrayal of the poor, unwed mom/hooker Fantine is really making it difficult for me to completely despise her. Her rendition of “I Dreamed A Dream” alone is Oscar gold. I hate to admit it, but I’ve become a fan(tine). Touché, Hath. Touché.

That miserable lesbian play.

One major aspect about this film that has been getting both significant praise and criticism is director Tom Hooper’s decision to have the cast sing in real time, rather than lip sync to a pre-recorded soundtrack. From an actor’s standpoint, I think it was an outstanding choice, but the challenges are apparent. Russell Crowe as Javert seemed like an excellent casting move at first, but he appeared to struggle on a few songs – and was it just me, or was he super nasally? Like, he has a history in musical theatre, sooo, am I being unreasonable here? I guess I expected more from the Gladiator. Not only Crowe, but love of my lifeWolverine Tony Award Winner Hugh Jackman seemed to battle through a few of Valjean’s songs. Were they singing too high? I feel like they were singing too god on high.

Enjolras, so hot right now.

However, God on high did hear my prayer by giving me Eddie Redmayne as Marius and new love of my life Aaron Tveit (“tuhv-eight”) as Enjolras. Holy smokes. “Red and Black” has always been one of my faves and I was not disappointed. Tripp Van der bilt Tveit played the revolutionary leader brillianty – brooding and passionate. It was so hot. I never pictured Marius as a ginge, but the dude has some mad skillz in the talent department as well. Seriously though, has Redmayne been nominated for a million awards yet? Because he needs to be. Like, whoa. I mean, I didn’t not cry throughout “Empty Chairs At Empty Tables.” And Enjolras… *sigh* <333 I’ve always been attracted to emotionally unavailable men…

Forever alone.

The chicks may not have stolen my heart full of love like the boys did, but they stole the show in their own right. Amanda Seyfried was great as whiney teen lover Cosette, although I found her quick vibrato a little distracting from her overall performance. Newcomer Samantha Barks as Éponine, however, was thrilling to watch. Since I was unavailable (ya know, scheduling conflicts and stuff), I was particularly concerned about the casting for this specific role. I nearly died of a heart attack when I heard Taylor Swift’s name thrown around. Blasphemy. “On My Own” is simply not a song that you fuck around with. In my opinion, nobody can really compare to Lea Salonga, but Barks sure as hell tried. Her unrequited love was desperate and vulnerable without being totally obnoxious about it. Just miserable, which is sort of the point. It doesn’t get more tragic than dying in the arms of the man you love who chose the rich blonde down the street instead of you. Also, she had a super tiny waist and I feel like that deserves some recognition.

Because I don’t want my post to be as long as the movie:

The Thénardiers killed it in the comic relief department. Love me some Helena Bonham Carter and Sacha Baron Cohen.

Gavroche. So good. Where was the rest of his song? I would have sat through 5 more minutes for the rest of the kid’s goddamn song.

My high school play’s barricade was bigger, you guys. Step it up.

If you pronounce every syllable in Les Misérables and butcher the title, I hate you. There’s a nickname for a reason and that reason is you. Bastard.

I wish Valjean was more like Wolverine.

Despite Russell Crowe bumming me out, the film was phenomenal – you could even say it was in Seine. Acting, cinematography, costumes, music. Boom. Is there a special theater where people like me can go to actually sing along to the entire flick? I need that more than the Thénardiers need a shower. If anyone wants to come over and drink sing with me, we can pretend my apartment is the ABC Cafe for one day more. At the end of the day, Les Misérables is definitely a must see, whether you are familiar with the longest running musical on Broadway or not. Vive la France! Vive la revolution! (‘Merica!)

My next step is to pick up all of the puns I seemed to have dropped throughout this post. After that, I’ll read the original Victor Hugo novel, but without the songs and an attention span, that could be challenging.

[ Insert more Les Mis puns here ]

Advertisements

Share this:

Like this:

Before you status update, Tweet, Tumble or Instagram, pause and say to yourself, “is it entirely necessary that I share this morsel of thought with my entire social network?”and if the answer is not, “yes, I absolutely must,” then step away from the Internet.

Know which candidate you’re going to vote for in the upcoming presidential election, and know why.

Enough with the 14-day juice cleanses. If you want to lose a little weight quickly, eat less and exercise like crazy. If you want to lose a lot of weight slowly, do whatever Jennifer Hudson did.

If you really like the person you’re hooking up with and would like them to be your boyfriend/ girlfriend, find a way to tell them, and hope for the best. If you don’t and wouldn’t, stop.

Find a way to save approximately 300 dollars and spend it on a flight to see a friend or family member who lives far away.

Please stop liking the Kardashians, all of them. It’s not helping anyone, least of all the Kardashians.

Spend less than or equal to the money you earn each month.

Wear clothes that fit you, especially to work.

Call someone on the phone at least once a week, and speak to him or her for at least ten minutes.

Start preparing now to get over the fact that Facebook is probably going to change again in six months. You’re not going to deactivate your account. You don’t know how.

Wait 30 seconds before you look up a fact you can’t remember on your phone, and try to remember it using your brain. This is what the olden days were like.

Replace one terrible reality show you’re currently watching with one wonderful scripted show currently available on television. Swap suggestion: Real Housewives of Anywhere for HBO’s Enlightened.

Try that food you think you don’t like but have never actually tried, unless it’s brussels sprouts. They really don’t need any more attention.

Cut one person out of your life who you truly do not like and add one person who you truly do. Note: not on Facebook, on Earth.

If you’re still blacking out regularly, you should stop.

Volunteer once over the next 90 days. You’ll feel really good about it, and probably end up volunteering again over the next 275.

Tell someone who you love that you love them on a more regular basis. To their face, not in a text.

Share this:

Like this:

It was late on the night of November 29 when an old friend decided to read through my blog. Although he commended my writing and its entertainment value (snaps for meee), he noted one thing it was lacking: vulnerability. “Well, duh,” I thought to myself. This isn’t Myspace or LiveJournal or Xanga (throwback!) where over-emotional teenage girls spill their innermost heartfelt secrets to the entire internet. Furthermore, who would want to read such word vomit? And from me? I suppose I’ve developed a small amount of humility over the years, because I never asked myself those questions in high school. Yet, here I am, about to write it all down again like I’m mothafuckin’ Aristotle. When will I learn? My b!

I advise you to turn back now or smoke some pot and keep reading.

It’s actually just “trust few” not “trust A few,” but you get the point. #theatrenerdproblems

To answer my own questions, I suppose he wants to read that sort of thing. (My friend who I mentioned before, in case you weren’t paying attention.) It’s both flattering and mind-boggling to sit back and realize that there are, in fact, real human beings out there who want to see what is really behind the curtain. Everybody tries so hard to put on this façade. We live in a society where people are constantly talking about being real and honest and finding the truth blah blah blah – but how can we do that when we’re all simultaneously in competition to see who gives less of a fuck? How is it that more people don’t see the hypocrisy in our behavior? Is all of this savoir-faire just the result of fear? Can the end all cause really be that simple? Figure it out, humanity.

I mean, Lennon was into it.

The word “vulnerability” often implies weakness. A sitting duck. It’s what happens when we let down our guard, but it’s necessary to build trust. Nobody wants to be vulnerable because nobody wants to get hurt. Nobody wants to be exposed. Nobody wants to be judged. It’s an easy enough concept to understand, but it explains a lot about how we interact with one another and why people do the things they do. Pardon my generality. Most people are too busy playing hard to get because we live in a world where – more often than not – when you show your cards, you lose. Mystery is somehow more desirable than truth. Why? Because you know that the truth can be painful, but the unknown leaves endless possibilities. There’s more security in mystery, or so it would seem. Most people, myself included, are often too afraid to take the risk to see if the truth is actually what they had hoped for. We prepare for the worst.

I don’t want to distract you with my beauty.

I was late to this game. To be honest, I’m not sure if I ever even really started playing. I don’t have much of a poker face. I don’t even play poker, you guys. You win again, Lady Gaga. My vices could be comparable to a bully on the playground – full of insecurity and compensation. It’s really quite obvious if you think about it, but I won’t spell out the details of my iniquities for you. Everyone is insecure about something. Everyone. Whether it be the cellulite on their thighs or the gap in their teeth or something much deeper, nobody is completely proud of everything that they are. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I think many people try too hard to hide the fact that they’re so personally unsatisfied – all in an effort to conceal their vulnerability. Maybe we’d all be a little less insecure about our own “flaws” and “shortcomings” (not specifically of the penile nature, but if that applies to you, then go with it) if we knew other people felt the same way about themselves. Would any of that honesty about our insecurities help to diminish those fears of not being good enough? Isn’t that the least we all want to be – enough?

Never more vulnerable than when you’re going #2.

Okay, maybe you’re one of those assholes out there who is thinking “um, I couldn’t possibly give a single shit about any given individual’s vulnerability” and to that I say, why are you still reading this, my friend? Some curiosity must have brought you here. Maybe you’re now beginning to question your own vulnerability and whether this whole soulless, inconsiderate vibe you’re sending out is just overcompensation for your self-hatred. Maybe it’s all a cry for help. Maybe you know that you really need to do some self-reevaluation and reflection. Maybe I watched Wanderlust a few too many times this weekend. Maybe I should just go fuck myself.

I should also probably note that I’m discussing emotional vulnerability here. Don’t go walking around the ghetto unarmed and wave around your Rolex. There’s a difference between vulnerability and stupidity.

Right?

I was surprised by the fact that a guy brought up his interest in my vulnerability, because I’ve also always assumed that “discussing insecurities” is a major turn off for most dudes. Don’t most people like a certain amount of confidence? Maybe you just have to be confident in your vulnerability? If you take a look at many musicians, it’s often their most vulnerable songs that receive the most success. Is it simply honesty we all seek? How true is this?

Emotional vulnerability is only weak if you refuse to own it. Willingness to be vulnerable should be seen as something brave. It’s undeniably risky. I began writing this post before the Sandy Hook massacre and since then, I feel like saying all of this is even more important. There isn’t enough time in the world to hide your feelings constantly. There isn’t enough time to be afraid of not being good enough. Sometimes it’s okay to be vulnerable and exposed and judged because that’s part of being human.

Am I super deep now? Does this make me super philosophical? So deep, bruh. So deep.

Does any of this even make any sense!?

Share this:

Like this:

I think it’s safe to say that the name Sandy has not been associated with anything remotely positive in America this fall. First, Hurricane Sandy ravaged the East Coast, and today we struggle with the devastation that occurred at Sandy Hook Elementary in Newtown, Connecticut.

Like most of the nation, the news of what happened at Sandy Hook has left me heartbroken, angry, and confused. I can’t seem to stop shaking or crying or feeling sick to my stomach – and I can’t even begin to imagine how the community of Newtown is attempting to cope with it all. It’s senseless. If I could, I would trade my life just so one of those kids could have theirs back. I’ve experienced a lot out of life already, made my mistakes, sinned – so why does it happen that I’m allowed to go on when they’re not? Why them? I can’t be the only person asking myself these questions. I know I’m sure as hell not the only person thinking about what we can do to prevent a crime like this from ever happening again.

I wish we could all agree that today’s tragedy is reasonable cause for more gun control and mental healthcare, but apparently there are citizens out there who believe this is cause for teachers to carry guns. UM, excuse me? So, your solution for our nation’s gun problem is… more guns? Yeah, because that’s logical. Please, stop your 2nd Amendment “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” bullshit, because people use guns to kill people.

Our society cannot continue to ignore the importance of mental health any longer. People with diseases of the mind should never be brushed aside simply because their afflictions don’t necessarily appear physically debilitating. As much as we poke fun of how “psycho” Carrie gets on Homeland, bipolar disorder isn’t a joke and neither is any other serious psychological condition. I know I’m guilty of mocking my own ailments in order to make the best of the situation, but these are things that need to be treated sincerely at the end of the day. These illnesses are no excuse for the wrongdoing they so often lead to, but in order to prevent disasters like today’s from happening, more needs to be done to provide awareness and real help for the people suffering mentally. There needs to be an open dialogue and a greater understanding of these adversities. Read this.

I think my friend Jeremiah said it best:

“I am not a parent. I do not own a firearm. I’ve never had someone close to me die as a result of such a heinous act. I guess you could say I’m completely unqualified to debate this topic, but I will say this, if you told me there was ANYTHING we could do differently to assist in protecting the lives of the innocent especially those of children, I’d say do it. Don’t debate it, just fucking do it.”

As for now, I’m consumed with overwhelming heartache and frustration. These kinds of things aren’t supposed to happen. Don’t take a single day for granted. Don’t take a single person for granted. If you love someone, let them know. Life is too short for anything but love.

Share this:

Like this:

Besides Christmas, December holds a special place in my heart for more “nostalgic” reasons. It was this very month, 23 years ago, that I began saying my first real words at 8 months old. As my dad is always so fond of pointing out, I haven’t stopped talking since.

Now, I’m not sure how familiar you are with babies, but saying legitimate words at 8 months is pretty early. I was a predominantly accelerated child. I must have hit my head or something.

It’s because of my premature chatterbox-ness that I believe I must have been predisposed to these ideas of “blogging” and “tweeting” and never shutting up. I WAS BORN THIS WAY. Seriously. My parents are always telling me about how they would bring me to parties as a baby/toddler/nugget, where they would just set me down and let me wander, knowing full well I would just go up to one of their random friends to begin a conversation. I’m pretty sure this was a result of over-confidence, rather than irresponsible parenting. More than once, they found crowds of adults gathered around me, just listening to everything I had to say. I was really popular… *sigh*

…

…

Why was I made like this? Is being a talker a genetic predisposition? What makes a person more likely to be a psycho extrovert like me instead of someone more introverted and boring shy? Am I just that American? Is one more desirable than the other? Is this why so many Asians seem to dislike me? But, really though.

Sometimes I wonder if I should apologize for my motormouth or if I should own it and keep on gabbing like I dgaf. Nobody wants to be that friendwho allows their obnoxious habits to get the better of them, but I also don’t want to be a traitor to my personality. Mostly this is a result of not taking my medication social anxiety, so, like, I have an excuse right?

…

Tweet me, text me, call me, skype me, like me, love me!!!!!!! xoxo

Share this:

Like this:

Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals. ‘Tis the season to be jolly and all of that other stuff. If someone would care to explain to me how the calendar already says December, I would really appreciate it. I suppose time does fly when you’re an alcoholic having fun. Why does everything seem to happen faster the older we get? When I was 8, I couldn’t wait to be 16 – and it took forrrrever to become 16. Now, all of a sudden, I am 23 years old with virtually the same maturity level I had at 16 and maybe slightly less hormonal outbursts/ obnoxious rebellions of self-expression. However, this is a conversation I will save for another time, assuming the whole Mayan apocalypse thing doesn’t pan out.

Besties with testes.

My point is, it’s December and December really only means one thing: Christmas. As you might have guessed from actually reading my blog, I take my holidays extremely seriously. Decor. Ugly sweater parties. Holiday attire. Gifts. Mistletoe. More excuses to not be sober throughout the entire month. A little Nat King Cole by the fireside. What’s not to love? By now, everyone should be familiar enough with me to know I’ll find any excuse to craft and be in costumewhile heavily intoxicated. Who wants to wear normal clothes every weekend? Boring. GTFO. Take some advice from Macklemore & Ryan Lewis and hit up your local Salvation Army or Goodwill for some quality holiday threads. $4 for a ballin’ bright green sweater vest? Can’t pass up a bargain like that.

I sent these to my lover.

Then, we have “Santa’s List.”

As children, our parents told us we wanted to be on the Nice List so we would get more presents from Old St. Nick. It was every parent’s desperate attempt to get their spawn to try to behave like decent mini-humans for the remainder of the year. Bluffs were called. Presents were still received. Coal was always absent from the stockings. Victory, children. Sweet, sweet victory. (Unless you weren’t as manipulative as my brother and I are were. Suckers.) Like, let’s just call a spade a spade. The whole list business is essentially parents attempting to bribe their children for some peace and quiet. Am I wrong here? I’m not saying it isn’t brilliant, but that’s pretty much what it comes down to, regarding the kiddies. At the end of the day, The Nice List isn’t for nice people, it’s just for sober boring people and naive little nuggets. Face the facts, The Naughty List is where it’s at. We have the spiked eggnog, the fatty cookies, and a plethora of fireside sex mistletoe.

Meowy Christmas to all the single ladies

Christmas, however, is a time for giving – which also means it’s a time for receiving. [Insert sexual Naughty List joke regarding giving and receiving here.] Would I be lying if I told you I don’t still make Christmas wish lists for my family that are numerically ordered according to importance? I plead the fifth. Gifts rule. And I’m poor, so buy me a nose job new laptop, or something.

As selfish as I tend to be, I actually find immense joy in giving presents to those I love. My limited post-grad budget tends to foil most grand gestures of affection and appreciation (which really tends to screw me over in the creativity and awesomeness department), but it still doesn’t change the fact that being a giver is a rewarding experience in itself. How can you not enjoy attempting to make someone you care about happy? If there is any time of the year for true sentimentality (besides Valentine’s Day and my birthday), it is now. However, gifts are also a great way to force people to think about you! Person: “Super cute [gift or whatever]!” Friend: “Thanks! I know, right? Alex gave it to me for Christmas. She is such an amazing friend and human being and is so funny and beautiful. You should read her blog”… Boom.

See, everybody wins on Christmas… Unless you’re the girl in the classic winter tune “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” – because she’s about to get date raped.

Share this:

Like this:

Well, I’m just going to blame my recent blogging inconsistency on my mild case of ADHD. I hope none of my fans killed themselves regarding my literary absence, because I think my tweets have been on point lately.

I feel like I owe everyone an explanation, or at least a bullshit excuse. You see, Hawaii is really the scapegoat in this situation. I was a little pre-occupied with shopping and spray tans – necessary preparations in order to spend my entire Maui vacation Instagramming selfies. Since my return, I’ve just been watching the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show on repeat too busy tracking the amount of likes on my profile picture – because we know social media response is what primarily validates my life choices. Obviously.

“Hey everyone, come see how good I look!” – Ron Burgundy

…

So, that’s my excuse/fake apology. Take it or leave it. I’ve got some things brewing for this little blog puppy and I hope you’ll be entertained. Aloha, homies.